


Give and Take

by Raikishi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights are harder than others.<br/>Wing!fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give and Take

**Author's Note:**

> Made to accompany something I drew: http://impossiblyconfused.tumblr.com/post/65826211401

    Steve comes awake with a start, unease eating away in his gut. Blinking away dried crusts at the corners of his eyes, he kicks off the sheets, moving despite being only partially conscious. His wings rustle behind him, kicking out cramps and they stretch as best they can in the cramped hallways. Tony’s not in the living room, though there is a movie playing, casting a dull yellow glow against the couch Tony had been sprawled over when Steve had turned in for the night. 

    The soldier picks through the clothes Tony’s dumped on the floor, kicking the belt under the coffee table to avoid making the painful mistake of stepping on it later on. Still rubbing sleep from his eyes, he works his way around the smattering of tools Tony’s left out, kicking those out of the way as well in order to make his way into the elevator. JARVIS starts it up without prompt and Steve finds himself outside Tony’s workshop just as he manages to leave sleep behind.

    He hesitates for a moment, peering through the glass walls.

    Tony’s back is turned and he moves almost mechanically as he taps the projections hovering before him, playing with nothing. 

    Steve has no delusions about the amount of work Tony has to do, knows that Tony could very well be elbow deep in something important. But he also recognizes the projections Tony’s pulled up; stock projections from the day before, still figures that won’t change until the market opens again. He waits for a moment, studying the tension in Tony’s body. He’s hunched over, looking tired and worn. One shoulder is lifted slightly in order to compensate for the missing weight of the lost wing. 

    Steve’s own pair gives a sympathy twang; he knows what tonight’s nightmare is. Tony’s told him, in graphic detail, how his wing had been ripped from him. 

    The glass is cool against Steve’s fingers; the temperature’s been adjusted to stave off the memory of heat and sand. 

    Steve watches as Tony brings up a hand, reaching behind to pick at the edges of the socket sealing off the broken end of his lost wing. There’s a viciousness to the movement, tension vibrating across Tony’s entire body and Steve moves before he’s aware of it.

* * *

      
    It’s been a long night. 

    Tony’s barely capable of deciphering the numbers before his eyes and he grimaces as his right shoulder gives a pang, phantom throbs of pain that should have been worn away over the years. Still, he can feel it, tonight, more than ever. He can still taste flight in the back of his throat, weightless and thrilling. He drags nails across his right shoulder blade, fingers tapping the socket that seals off his broken wing. The prosthetic pokes too much for him to wear to sleep, hard edges a sharp contrast to warm and pliable unbroken wings. Vaguely, he wonders if it was worth making it out of Afghanistan. 

    The familiar thought settles in the back of his mouth, the feel of it solid and worn as smooth as a pearl in an oyster, as if each bitter turn of his mind only helps in smoothing down the edges until it holds an irresistible appeal.

    Tony drags his nails across his shoulder once more, nails digging almost desperately against the nearly deadened nerve endings.

    A knock against the wall breaks him out of his thoughts and he tenses before he can think.  He tracks Steve’s movements through the lab without thinking, letting out a slow breath as Steve stops behind him. Gently, large hands move up his arms, forcing back a chill he hadn’t been aware of until now. Tony sighs, forcing the breath out as he submits himself to Steve’s touches. 

    “You weren’t in bed,” Steve whispers, voice light, holding nothing accusatory in it and Tony relaxes more, leaning into the solid warmth that is Steve.

    White wings pull forward, a storm of feathers slipping over both of them and Tony digs his hands into them, relishing the feel. Steve’s hand is working gently between Tony’s shoulder blades, the rhythmic movement slow and comforting; Tony quivers, leaning back.

    “Rough night,” Tony forces himself to speak, the sound raw as it breaks through the air and Steve’s hold tightens protectively.

    Dry lips brush across Tony’s shoulder as Steve gently and cautiously curls a hand around the socket made for the prosthetic, thumb rubbing circles around the base of it. Tony shivers despite himself, turning around and burying his face into Steve’s neck, ashamed of the way his breathing shakes as air rattles out of his lungs.

    Steve, blessedly, says nothing, electing to hold onto his boyfriend as he breaks apart.

    In morning there will be no sign of this, all of it neatly tucked away behind dry wit and sarcastic barbs as Tony moves about the world with his head held high. 

    But tonight, at this very moment, he can’t and Steve has no problem holding for the both of them. He keeps his hands tight around Tony’s trembling form, hopes it will be enough to keep the man here with him.  
  



End file.
